Unseen Motives: Driscoll Lake

Prologue

Driscoll Lake, Texas

September 13, 1991

Stephanie Harris stood on the sidelines with the rest of the marching band and scanned the crowd at the high school home opener. Her parents would be there, along with a sizable number of the town's ten thousand residents.

Her stomach flopped. If she missed a step or turned the wrong way, the whole town would see.

She recalled her father's words at breakfast that morning. Don't worry, honey. You'll do fine. You've had years of practice.

But not with the high school band. Maybe I can't do this. What if I mess up?

Haven't I always said you could do or be anything you want?

Yes, but—

No buts about it. Go out there tonight and do what I know you can do. Your mom and I will be there watching.

Knowing her father was in the stands cheering for her boosted her confidence. The visiting band finished their performance. When the drum major called the Panther Band to attention and they took the field, any reservations Stephanie felt dissipated.

The marching routine was a bit more complicated than the ones Stephanie was accustomed to in Junior High, but she kept in step. At one point, when she was at the head of the row, she executed the turn with military-like precision. The applause from the home crowd told her the others followed in her steps.

The band finished their routine to a standing ovation and marched off the field. When the drum major gave the fall out command, Stephanie breathed a sigh of relief.

Christine Starnes, Stephanie's best friend, came up to her. We did it! Let's take our instruments back to our seats and then get something to eat. We have the entire third quarter for our break.

Good idea. I've been so nervous about marching, that I was afraid of getting sick. I think I could eat now.

They left the bleachers and walked toward the concession stand along with most of the other band members. After they had taken a few steps, Stephanie stopped. A cold chill crept down her body, and she shivered.

What's wrong? Christine asked.

Nothing, she said. Felt a chill.

In this heat?

Yeah. Weird. I'm okay now.

Brian Nichols, who played drums, called out to her as he walked by. Great job Stephanie. He smiled and winked.

Thanks, she said.

Brian was a troublemaker, responsible for several pranks, the least of which was when he climbed the city's water tower and spray-painted graffiti on the tank.

Although no one could prove it, many thought he was responsible for starting a fire at an old abandoned house on the outskirts of town. He and some of other boys would often hang out there to drink beer.

I think he likes you. Christine lowered her voice so as not to be overheard.

Brian? He's a rebel.

Yeah. That's what makes him cool.

Stephanie rolled her eyes. She wasn't interested in Brian Nichols. She only had eyes for one boy—the quarterback of the football team, Matt Bradford. Not that he ever noticed her. She was just another freshman to him. It wouldn't do her any good if he did show interest. Her parents wouldn't allow her to date until she was sixteen.

When they neared the concession stand, Stephanie looked toward the bleachers. Her mother sat next to Christine's parents, but she didn't see her father. It was unusual for him not to be at home games. But he hadn't been acting like himself the past few days. Maybe it was because of the long hours he worked. Since the company's CEO, Phillip Denton, disappeared a few weeks earlier, Robert Harris spent most of his time at the office.

But he told me he'd be at the game.

Stephanie ordered a hot dog and a Coke. She looked for her father at the concession stand but was unable to find him. She and Christine mingled with other students.

A siren wailed in the distance. When the sound drew nearer, she saw the police chief hurry from the stadium to his squad car. An ambulance passed and turned in the direction of the factory. Chief Rivers pulled out of the parking lot and followed.

When the quarter ended, Stephanie and Christine went back the bleachers with other band members. The fourth quarter was almost over when an announcement came over the PA system. Kathryn Harris please report to the ticket office.

Stephanie frowned. Why would someone page Mom? She looked at Christine.

Christine shrugged in answer to the unspoken question.

The game ended in a victory for the Driscoll Lake Panthers. In tradition, the band members and cheerleaders went onto the field to congratulate the home team. Caught up in the excitement, Stephanie forgot about the call for her mother.

Several of the cheerleaders and band members who dated football players walked arm-in-arm with them off the field. Stephanie looked around for number eleven, wondering if he had a girl to walk with him. She saw him near the sideline, with his helmet in hand, walking alone toward the locker room.

Someone called out to him. Hey, Bradford. Great game.

He turned to see where the voice came from, and his eyes met Stephanie's. He smiled. How's it going?

She felt her pulse quicken and her face grow warm. Uh. I— I'm okay.

Another player ran up and slapped Matt on the back. Come on man. Coach is waiting for us. They left the field together.

Stephanie watched him walk away. He noticed her, and all she could do was act like a tongue-tied, silly kid. When Christine called out, she jumped in surprise.

What's up? You look all starry eyed. Let's get out of here before Kyle Lawrence finds me. I don't want to see him.

What's wrong with Kyle? Stephanie asked as they made their way toward the stadium entrance.

He's okay, but I wish he'd learn to stand up to his overbearing father.

They walked toward the main gate. Upon reaching the ticket office, they saw the school counselor leading Rachel Jackson from the stadium. Rachel was crying. Her stepfather was Phillip Denton, the missing CEO of Cameron Manufacturing.

I wonder what's wrong with her, Christine said. Maybe they found Mr. Denton's body.

She wouldn't cry over him. I don't think she even likes the man.

Yeah, you're probably right.

When they reached the front gate, Stephanie was surprised to see her father's cousin Carol standing beside Christine's mother. Something was wrong. Carol rarely left the house. When she did, she avoided crowded places.

Your mother had to leave, Carol said. I need to tell you something. Let's go to my car.

Mrs. Starnes looked at Christine. We'd better go with them, honey.

They reached Carol's car, and she turned and put her hands on Stephanie's shoulders. There's not a good way to say this. I hate to be the one to tell you, but your father and Madelyn Denton are dead.

Dead? How?

It happened at the factory. Apparently, someone killed them.

No. Stephanie shook her head. No, you're wrong. It can't be. Daddy is alive. It's a mistake.

Even as she spoke the words, she remembered seeing Rachel Jackson a few minutes earlier. Madelyn's death would explain the reason for Rachel's tears.

Stephanie turned toward Christine, who was looking at her mother. Mrs. Starnes nodded her head, and Christine turned to face Stephanie, tears in her eyes.

No. Nnnnnoooo! Stephanie pounded her fists on the car. Not my father. Please, please not my father.

Chapter One

September 11, 2011

Stephanie Harris took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as the plane lifted from the runway. It was too late to turn back. For the first time in twenty years, she was returning to her childhood home.

The past few days had been a whirlwind. First, the regretful interview in which Stephanie unintentionally declared her father's innocence on live television. Next came the unexpected phone call from her great aunt's neighbor Nell Bradford, Aunt Helen's deathbed request that Stephanie return to Driscoll Lake, and her surprising agreement.

Had she taken the time to consider the consequences, she would have refused. She had no fond memories of Driscoll Lake. In fact, they were quite the opposite—hurt, contempt, betrayal.

Stephanie relaxed and stretched her legs. In the last minute scramble to find a flight, first class had been her only option. She had to admit a more comfortable seat and extra legroom were nice. She brought her iPad and earbuds. She'd had her share of chatty passengers to deal with over the years, and today she had no interest in engaging in idle conversation.

This time she was in luck. The middle-aged woman who sat next to her only smiled and offered a brief greeting as she sat down. Now that the plane was in the air, the woman pulled a book from an attaché case, opened it, and began to read.

Stephanie glanced at the cover and recognized her latest novel, Forgotten Memory. She slipped on the earbuds, tapped the music app on her iPad, and selected a favorite playlist.

She soon dozed off but woke up when the plane hit an area of mild turbulence. A flight attendant walked down the aisle with a beverage cart. Stephanie asked for water and mumbled a polite thank you when the attendant handed her the cup.

The woman next to her ordered a cola. She closed the book and laid it upside down in her lap. She looked at Stephanie's photo on the back cover, then turned to Stephanie and smiled.

I thought I recognized you when we got on the plane, but I realize privacy is important. I didn't want to disturb you.

Thanks. Stephanie smiled. Hope you're enjoying the book.

It's your best one so far, and I've read them all.

Thank you. It was my favorite one to write, yet in many ways the hardest.

I can understand. The woman spoke in a low voice. "I saw your interview with Jennifer Moore on Between the Pages."

Stephanie lowered her eyes. She might as well get used to it. People everywhere would be asking about her past and her father's crime. Yes, well. I should have left some things unsaid.

I know what it's like to be in an awkward situation. My ex-husband committed a horrendous crime. All the evidence pointed toward him. Even so, I believed in his innocence for a long time, choosing to believe the courts had convicted the wrong man.

Stephanie felt an instant sense of affinity with this woman. I believe my father was guilty. Can't imagine why I said otherwise.

Maybe deep down you think he was innocent.

I wish I could. Stephanie glanced out the window and took a sip of water. It's hard to argue with autopsy reports and a suicide note.

I'm sorry. I haven't introduced myself. My name is Deborah Morgan. I'm a clinical psychologist.

Stephanie shifted in her seat. I see.

Don't worry. I'm not here to analyze you. Just wanted to let you know I've been in a similar situation and understand what it's like. Please, call me Deborah. Her smile was genuine.

Thank you.

At any rate, I thought the reporter was way out of line in insinuating you were hiding something about your father.

I knew Jennifer Moore was ruthless, but she did catch me off guard.

They sat in silence much of the rest of the flight. Stephanie jotted some ideas for her current manuscript. Her laptop was in the overhead bin, but she didn't have the inclination to pull it out. She had promised her editor the first draft in October, so she planned to write while in Driscoll Lake. She'd purchased an open-end ticket, unsure of how long it would take her to see to Aunt Helen's affairs.

It was possible Stephanie wouldn't have to do anything. She had reconnected with her great aunt only a few years earlier, and they had taken several trips together. However, even though she was the only living relative, it didn't mean Aunt Helen had named Stephanie as her heir. Not that it mattered. The money wasn't important. Stephanie was grateful for the few years they had together.

When the captain announced the plane would be landing shortly, Stephanie turned to Deborah. Are you stopping in Dallas?

No, I'll continue to Orlando. I'm going there for a conference. And you?

Getting off at Dallas, and then driving to my old hometown. She shook her head. A family member passed away. I can't believe I'm going back. Only a few days ago, I vowed I would never return.

***

Matt Bradford stirred restlessly in the recliner and stared at his parent's fifty-five-inch television. The high definition picture was almost life-like, but he found it difficult to muster up any enthusiasm for the game. He had no interest in watching a bunch of overpaid men pushing and shoving one another in the quest of taking a ball across a goal line. Matt was beginning to think football was a stupid pastime.

That hadn't always been true. He once loved the game, especially during his days as a player. He still remembered the excitement of those Friday nights in high school. The adrenaline rush. The cheering crowds and marching band. The thrill of victory.

He'd looked forward to spending the afternoon watching the game with his dad. Since Dan Bradford's retirement, Matt's parents spent much of their time on the road in their RV, having returned from an extended trip to the Grand Canyon a few days earlier.

Matt's day started out fine. After an early morning run, he attended the services at Driscoll Lake Community Church. He rarely attended, but today was the annual program to honor the first responders of the community. As police chief of Driscoll Lake, he could ill-afford not to go. Although the town had grown considerably over the past decade, it was still small enough to have plenty of gossips, and he wanted to maintain a good rapport with the community.

After the service, the church hosted a potluck lunch. His mood turned sour when Judge Curtis Lawrence took it upon himself to give a speech about the city's police force and firefighters being like family.

It would have been a good speech, had it been true. The Judge's statement about how fortunate the town was to have some of their own to serve the community was a farce.

Curtis Lawrence was a fine one to talk about family. His attitude toward his own son was despicable. Before lunch, Matt heard him bashing Kyle over his recent story in the local newspaper.

If that wasn't enough, he'd overheard the town gossip, Madge Sinclair, talking with one of Driscoll Lake's newer residents. He felt certain she'd waited until he was within earshot to speak.

Judge Lawrence just acted polite. He opposed Matt's appointment as police chief. I think it had something to do with an accident involving Matt's wife. I overheard his mother tell someone he blamed himself for her death. There are rumors—

I don't think this is the place for that kind of talk, the other woman said. In fact, I despise gossip. She left, leaving Madge opened mouth.

It took every ounce of restraint for Matt not to tell Madge off on the spot. If Kyle Lawrence hadn't stopped him, he would have probably done so.

Leave it alone. Madge isn't worth it. Kyle looked across the room where The Judge sat talking with the mayor. Neither is my father.

Kyle saved him from what would have been an embarrassing situation. He had a few choice words for Madge—none of them complimentary, and certainly not appropriate to say in church. The fact that Madge spoke the truth was what angered him most. Tara would be alive today if not for him.

Hypocrites. Driscoll Lake had plenty of them. Too many people had hidden agendas. After listening to Madge and Judge Lawrence, Matt wanted to be alone. But he'd promised his dad he would stop by to watch the game. When he tried to back out, his mother pleaded with him.

Please come. We're only in town for a couple of weeks. We wanted to see you today.

Yes, son, his father said. We don't see you that often when we're home.

Dan was right. Since Tara's death, Matt avoided most social contact—including his parents. He sensed they needed him today, especially his mother. She was upset over the death of her next-door neighbor, Helen McKenzie. Nell Bradford had ridden in the ambulance with her and remained at the hospital until the end.

Helen and her late husband George already lived at Lakeview Estates when Dan and Nell Bradford decided to purchase a lakeside lot. After George had died, Nell took it upon herself to look after her aging neighbor. Matt knew Helen's death would leave a void in his mother's life.

It was almost ironic that Helen died nearly twenty years of the date of her nephew, Robert Harris. The scandal that arose following his suicide shook the citizens of Driscoll Lake and affected many lives, including some of Matt's friends and classmates.

The crime had been instrumental in his decision to study criminal justice and enter law enforcement. Kyle Lawrence's demeanor changed. He abandoned his plans to follow his father in the legal profession and decided to study journalism. Even Brian Nichols straightened up his life. He had been well on his way to juvenile detention or worse.

The scandal affected Rachel Jackson and Stephanie Harris more than anyone. Both left Driscoll Lake shortly after that. Rachel went to live with her father. Stephanie moved away with her mother.

Rachel recently returned to the area to take a position at the hospital in Brewster, and now Stephanie was coming back for the first time in twenty years. According to his mother, Helen's dying wish was for Stephanie to be here for the funeral. Matt wondered why she hadn't visited before Helen's death. What good would it do for her to come back now? Maybe Stephanie had an agenda.

A cheer from the home crowd turned Matt's attention back to the television screen.

Way to go! That was some move, Dan said.

Uh. Yeah. Sure. Matt had no idea what happened.

Exciting game? Nell walked into the room from the kitchen where she had been busy for the last half hour.

It is now, Dan said. Do you have everything ready for Stephanie?

Yes. I should check the thermostat at Helen's place. The house didn't seem cool to me when I was there earlier. And I want to make sure Whiskers is okay. Stephanie will be here soon.

Where's the key? Matt asked. I'll go.

Nell reached in her pocket. I thought I had it here. Must be in my purse. Just use the one Helen kept hidden.

She had a hidden key? That's a bad idea.

I know, but she wouldn't listen. Kept it underneath a flowerpot near the front door.

Matt got up from the chair. After I check the house, I'm going home.

I hoped you would stay for dinner.

No, thanks. I'm not very hungry.

It's only a light meal. Please reconsider. You've hardly stopped by since we've been home.

Matt rubbed his forehead. Okay, but I can't stay long.

***

Matt lifted the flowerpot and picked up the key beneath. He shook his head. It wasn't even a heavy pot. He could never understand why some people went to such great lengths to protect their property only to be careless enough to leave a key hidden. A doormat or flowerpot would be the first place someone would look.

He started to insert the key in the lock but discovered the door slightly opened. There weren't any signs of forced entry, but Matt entered the house cautiously. Helen's cat Whiskers was asleep on the back of the sofa.

Matt checked all the rooms and other doors. Everything appeared to be in place. Satisfied, he checked the thermostat and left by way of the front door, making certain to lock it behind him. He pocketed the key. No sense in leaving it where someone could easily find it.

He assumed his mother must have left the door unlocked when she was here earlier. Normally, she wasn't so careless. He considered telling her but changed his mind. She was already troubled about Helen's death—no point in making her more upset.

***

Stephanie had forgotten how hot Texas summers could be. When she stepped out of the terminal and made her way to the rental car, her silk designer pants and matching jacket clung to her body.

No one dressed up for traveling these days. She had been foolish to do so when she would have been more comfortable in jeans and a simple cotton shirt. Stephanie remembered her mom always said, Dress for success. Dress for confidence. The right clothes make all the difference in how you feel and how you portray yourself.

Today she needed all the confidence she could muster. More than once, she'd considered backing out of the trip. While waiting to board the plane in Denver, she'd been tempted to walk away from the airport. If she hadn't already checked her luggage, she would have probably done so. But to not board a flight—especially on the anniversary of the September 11 tragedy—would have sent up red flags everywhere.

Why the sudden need to feel confident? She was a well-known author. Before that, she had a lucrative career with a popular travel magazine. By the world's standards, she was successful.

She hated to admit it, but her choice of attire was more a case of trying to impress the people of Driscoll Lake. She wanted them to know Stephanie Harris had succeeded in the world despite of the way they acted after her father died.

Even the Louis Vuitton handbag she carried spoke of money. It had been a gift from her publisher after her fifth book went on the bestseller list. She rarely used it, but at the last minute pulled it from her closet.

Stephanie placed her luggage in the trunk of the rental, got into the car, and turned the air-conditioner to high. She hoped the cold air would ease her anxiety and dry the dampness of her blouse.

The Sunday afternoon traffic was light, and soon she left the tall skyscrapers of Dallas behind. Traffic thinned along the rural highway. When she reached the exit for Driscoll Lake, she moistened her lips and tried to ignore the flutter in her stomach. She questioned why her aunt had requested her to come. Why was it so important after all these years?

Stephanie realized some people in Driscoll Lake would second-guess her reasons for returning. The fact that she hadn't visited while Helen was still alive would be a source of gossip for many. However, she couldn't concern herself with what others thought.

She was surprised at how much the town had grown since she was last here. Twenty years earlier, there were only a few small businesses. Now there were hotels, several well-known restaurants, and shopping centers. The home-owned grocery store that once stood on the corner of Main Street was now an antiques store. A larger grocery chain had built a supermarket two blocks away, and numerous subdivisions surrounded the town. It was obvious the area had recovered from the loss of the factory—at least economically.

Helen lived in a gated community called Lakeview Estates. Twenty years ago, it was a place for vacationers and weekend visitors. Stephanie recalled several family outings when Uncle George and Aunt Helen first bought their lot and built a small cabin. They had cookouts and enjoyed swimming and boating on the lake.

Residential homes now stood where weekend cabins once dotted the shoreline. Nell had told her to turn east onto Lakeside Drive. It's about a quarter of a mile. Our house is a two-story brick next door to Helen's place.

She almost didn't recognize the house. The once rustic cabin was now a charming cottage with a carport and manicured lawn. The flowerbeds contained a variety of roses. The small deck that overlooked the lake was now a larger screened in porch.

Stephanie parked in the driveway and glanced in the rearview mirror. Nell and Dan were the first of several people she hadn't seen in twenty years. She wasn't nervous about seeing them, but she had plenty of apprehension about meeting up with a few others.

Okay, Stephanie. Whatever happens, it's time to face the music.

She got out of the car, walked next door to the Bradford house, and rang the doorbell. A dark-colored extended cab pickup sat in the circular driveway. She guessed they had visitors, so she planned to stay only long enough to retrieve the house keys.

When the door opened, she expected to see either Nell or Dan. Instead, a man in his mid-thirties answered the door. He had dark brown hair, a tanned complexion, and a scar just above his chin. Stephanie took note of his athletic build—indicative of someone who spent a lot of time in the gym. The man's eyes took in her appearance.

His firm set jaw and crossed arms